Her
by MaturePopcorn
Summary: Just a self insert OC thing I wrote


Sunday, September 22nd. I didn't even really want to go to church today. Or ever, to be honest. I'm not exactly what you'd call "religiously inclined". It only added to my anxiety that I had recently discovered my grandfather's alcoholism to be worse than I originally believed. Sure, he drank a lot, but he was retired, so I always assumed it stemmed from a sort of boredom of having the house to himself all day, every day. As it turned out, it was a pretty serious problem, one that ultimately came to a head last week when my mother discovered he had been drinking and driving with my little sister in the car. As a technically legal adult, I was told I was allowed to make my own decisions about whether to get in the car with him. Even on a Sunday morning I was a bit wary, thinking of my own experiences with the stuff, but I ultimately decided that since it was just before church, it was probably okay. Besides, I had nothing better to do.

As much as I despised organised religion as a whole, I guess I rather liked our church. It was non-denominational, one of those churches where the pastor wore jeans and played a guitar. One of those churches where being gay was "just dandy", and being transgender was "simply swell", because "in the eye of the Lord, everyone was perfect". I went for the social stimulation more than anything else; I spent just about every other day of the week shut up in my room, browsing YouTube for anything remotely entertaining.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease in my stomach.

In the end, though, I'm glad I went.

As my grandparents pulled up to my apartment, I smiled and did a sort of half wave, bouncing down the steps to meet them. I still didn't have a car, so they picked me up to take me every week with the understanding that I'd go to their house and join them for brunch afterward. It was a routine, and now that I was out of high school and not quite in college, it was a routine that I craved deeply. I need structure in my life, and I've always detested the unexpected curveballs life seems to enjoy hurtling at me on a daily basis.

I climbed into my grandfather's big, white Chevrolet Silverado, his "baby" (next only to the Mercedes he never drove) and cheerfully greeted them.

"Good morning, Hannah!" I smiled and said good morning, how are you, the usual. My grandma handed me a Starbucks sandwich, ham and cheese today, and asked me how I was feeling. I half laughed, "Oh, just tired, as usual." It was common knowledge in my family that I was hopelessly depressed, but I at least tried to put on a front of "slowly getting better" to my grandparents. The way I saw it, I didn't see them all that often and there was no point in worrying them. They had enough to worry about.

"Well that's good," my grandfather said. Then, quickly, "Not good that you're tired, but good that you're feeling better."

I let out an anxious little laugh to myself, as a way to relieve the butterflies in my stomach. I never said anything about feeling better, did I? It was unfortunate, that ever since my suicide attempt two months ago my whole family walked on eggshells around me. I wish I had never gotten on that damned roof, or at least sometimes wish I had had the guts to follow through. I missed the old dynamic I had with them, as their "little buddy", in their words. Ever since then, our relationship had gotten exponentially more… Adult. Content with my fabricated stories of how I was l felt happier and more prepared to take on the rest of my life, they now talked about more grown up things. Moving out, getting a job, a car, college, taxes, _retirement._ I'm barely 18 and they expected me to set up a damn 401k.

I irrationally blame myself for ever growing up.

"Oh, you'll be helping me with greeting and communion today. Just like last week." I smiled again and nodded.

"Okay, that sounds great."

In reality, this meant staying for three services instead of just one. I was already internally groaning at having to wake up at seven o'clock, and now I'd be there until noon. As we crossed the freeway overpass, I looked across to Martinez and thought back to my ex. I did that a lot. Obsessively, really. It was a problem that I wasn't ready to tackle, yet there it was staring me in the face everyday.

 _"You need to get over her. She said it so plainly, she's aromantic. She used you."_

 _"Yeah, yeah, shut up already. You say that every time she crosses my mind. And no, actually, she didn't 'use' me, she was physically unable to love me back and you know it. Now fuck off and leave me alone."_

 _"Don't feel like it."_

I silently sighed. It was an internal struggle I dealt with every day, between the voice in my head that hated my ex and me, the hopeless romantic who still felt she did nothing wrong. I had talked to numerous therapists on and off about medication, something to make him go away, but the benefits were always severely outweighed by the side effects. At least he kept me company when I needed it most, both during those long hours spent on the Internet, and when I was feeling down about life again. He's less pissy when I feel depressed, even going so far as to comfort me. Maybe that's why I keep him around instead of zombifying myself with meds. Or it could be that I'm lonely and see a sort of friend in him. I even gave him a name, Thistle. It suited him and his vaguely bitter personality.

We pulled up to the church with plenty of time to spare. To my grandparents, being early was a virtue, but they always seemed to go above and beyond to be impossibly early to every event. As a generally shy child growing up in the early 2000's, with no smart phone to entertain me endlessly, I quickly learned how to entertain myself whenever we arrived at some movie, party, or church gathering upwards of an hour before start. Most of that involved talking to Thistle, making jokes together about our surroundings. We're very cynical people, the both of us, and we loved to people watch, inventing stories about how things were never as they seemed. Everyone had secrets and double lives to us. By the time I hit puberty, we started people watching for a different reason, inventing all the ways I could slyly introduce myself to a particularly attractive person we both deemed to be way out of my league. Our schemes never came to fruition, as I was always too scared to actually introduce myself.

I waved to the pastor, a kind man in his 30's who wouldn't seem too out of place in a hipster café. He always wore the same thing to church; blue jeans, a plaid button-up shirt, a full beard with no moustache, and an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. My grandfather enthusiastically greeted him and shook his hand.

"Heya Jesse! How're the kids?"

"Oh, there a handful, as usual. You know how it is at that age, always pushing boundaries and seeing _just_ how much they can get away with." He seemed especially enthusiastic, making wild hand gestures with a wide grin plastered on his face, no doubt caffeinated beyond belief.

My grandfather laughed in an understanding way, and I cynically smiled to myself. I decided a while ago that I was never having kids. Aside from simply not wanting to deal with them, I hated the thought of passing on my genetic predisposition for all sorts of medical problems and mental ailments.

 _"The least of which is alcoholism."_

 _"Shut up, Thistle."_

We walked inside and greeted more people. It was still a good half hour before church and people were already starting to file in for the free coffee and snacks, and to save their usual seats. We made our way to the worship centre and dropped our stuff off at the third row. The large flat screens mounted to either side of the stage stated that there were still 22 minutes before the service even started. I left the room and returned to the lobby, turning right to grab a glass of iced tea. The coffee at this place is terrible, so I always settled for tea or, if I felt awake enough, water. My heart seemed to skip a beat as I saw _him_.

Arguably the most attractive person I'd ever seen in my life, the boy whose name I didn't know was always here for the earliest service, same as me, and after years of seeing him I still couldn't work up the courage to even say hello. He was too out of my league. Too perfect. Too…

 _"Too goddamn sexy for this world is what he is! Go say hi, hello, something, anything, before he gets away! Again!"_

I did another quick laugh to ease my anxiety. _"Thistle, you're to goddamn_ gay _for this world. He'll be here next week,_ " I responded, trying to push his intrusive voice out of my head to no avail.

 _"It's not gay if I'm in a girl's head, we've been over this. Now stop putting this off and go say something!_ "

 _"NO."_

 _"I HATE YOU."_

I smiled softly. _"No, you don't."_

I ignored his further protests and got my tea, leaving the boy to his table and walking back to the main centre. I had managed to kill a whole four minutes. Groaning, I settled into my seat, ready to disassociate again.

The first and second services went by relatively uneventfully. I helped pass communion around, greeted people as they came and went, and people watched with Thistle. During the second service, when I wasn't passing communion, I sat on a couch in the lobby, browsing iFunny and Pinterest for memes. The routine of it all calmed me, as this was what I did almost every week with little variation. As the second service let out, I got to my feet and put on a smile, ready to say goodbye to people I didn't know and thought to myself, _"It's almost over. One more service and you can go home and chill."_

People leaving the church passed the people entering, a sort of hypnotising flow of people out either set of double doors. I alternated quickly between goodbye's and hello's, shaking a few people's hands and generally acting as cheerful as I could.

That's when I first saw her.

It's hard to describe the emotions I felt when I first glanced at her. Some mixture of anxiety and calm that I can't easily put into words. She looked close to my height, around 5'6", and wore tight black jeans and a loose black shirt with stunningly bright pink Converse. She was conventionally pretty, yes, but more than that, she seemed bright and airy just in her mere existence, like her heart was liable to burst from sheer joy at any moment. Light freckles dotted all over her face, and as she got closer I could see her eyes were a startling grey, like silver in sunlight.

I did a subdued double take with my eyes alone as I realised her hair, down to her shoulders and wavy as the ocean, was indeed even the colour of the ocean. Deep blue, with specks of green and underlays of teal. The way the colours blended together so seamlessly, you'd almost think it was natural if not for the fact it was clearly not possible. It didn't strike me as too odd, though; living in the Bay Area you see a lot of people with interesting hairstyles and colours. Some were more attractive then others. This girl though, she really pulled it off well. I decided it had to have been professionally done, since I sincerely doubted anyone could do that with box dye at home, though it looked as though she had done it recently. I could see no natural coloured roots growing in.

The second I saw her, Thistle went absolutely crazy. You'd think for only being inside my head it wouldn't be too loud, but he knew how to yell when he wanted to. It almost hurt.

 _"Jesus fucking Christ no what the fuck?!"_

I grimaced slightly, then forced my face to return to normal. _"Fuck, Thistle, don't do that. What the fuck do you want?"_

 _"No. You don't understand. You need to talk to her."_

I quickly snorted. _"Okay hon, I have to greet her anyway."_

He got quieter, his voice softer. _"Please."_

In that one word, I understood what he meant completely. There was a slight undertone of desperation, a longing. This wasn't like people watching, with wild scenarios and fantasies about meeting cute people I'd never actually talk to in a million years, this was right in front of me. And unlike the boy from earlier, I couldn't let her get away.

She walked right up to me and smiled so wide her eyes closed, like every moment she lived was too positive for her to bear. _"Ah, the opposite of me then."_ Despite the well blended makeup on her face, I could see darkened bags under her eyes. I chuckled in my head. _"Well, maybe not completely."_

"My name's Miranda! I'm new to town, actually, and I'm not too religiously devoted, but I wanted to go to church anyway and this one seemed like a perfect fit for me, from what I've heard. It seems so open and accepting, which is simply wonderful, isn't it? I'm originally from Portland, actually, quite a ways away, full of gay people, but God the weather here is gorgeous, isn't it?" She continued in a sort of rambling way, talking quickly and excitedly, not focusing on any one subject for more than a sentence, and telling me more of her life story than I was mentally prepared for. I had to tune her out for a moment to gather my thoughts, which were a jumbled mess. Thistle continued talking as well, which didn't exactly help matters.

 _"What is happening what is happening you need to say something but you can't cause she won't stop talking but that's okay she can do whatever she wants God she's fucking perfect isn't she?"_

 _"Thistle if you don't shut up right now I'm going to freak out."_ In a matter of mere seconds my cheerful, seemingly stable state had crumbled to a complete mess. I now couldn't even begin to focus on anything she was saying, and Thistle just continued rambling about perfection and who knows what else.

There was a silence, and I realised she had stopped talking. Panicked, I stumbled over my own tongue and froze. After what seemed several eternities, with her piercing eyes patiently staring at me, waiting for a response, I blurted out, "Y-yes?"

She blinked, somewhat startled. Then she laughed. It was a genuine, whole-hearted laugh, and it made my heart bounce excitedly. The sound made me happy, unexplainably, indescribably happy, and I felt as if all my problems in life were trivial, like everything was going to be okay. I felt my anxiety simply melt in her laughter, and Thistle even stopped talking.

"It's okay, I know I talk fast and talk a lot so it happens a lot. I said, though, what's your name?"

Realisation hit me, and I felt my cheeks flushed dark red. "Oh, ah, um…" I stumbled again, and forced my voice back to some semblance of calm. "M-my name's Hannah."

She flashed a brilliant teethed smile, and held her hand out for me to shake it. I obliged, flinching only slightly in awkwardness as I felt her smooth, soft skin meet my own. "That's such a pretty name!"

Without thinking, the cynic in me blurted out, "Thanks, it was my ex's name."

She laughed again, this time somewhat nervously, and I scolded myself harshly in my head. "Oh, ah, sorry, no, that just slipped out. Shit, sorry…" I trailed off, then realised our hands were still interlocked, and I pulled away. "I sometimes say things without thinking."

Her smile returned to normal. "Don't worry, I do that too!"

I anxiously smiled back, apologising again. _"Yeah, I can see that…"_

She glanced inside. "If you're able to, would you mind showing me around? I'd love a guide."

I blushed slightly and nodded, abandoning my post at the door and following her through the doors. I began a quick tour. "There's not too much to talk about, really, the bathrooms are over there, to the right," I said, pointing down the large, open hallway. "Further down is the childcare centre, and on the left is a sort of snack bar and sitting area. Through the double doors to the front is the actual worship centre." I mentally rolled my eyes. I'd always hated that phrase, "worship centre", and saying it out loud felt forced.

I noticed her eyes light up at the mention of a snack bar. "Is there coffee?"

I nodded, accompanied with a slight "mmhmm". "But it's not that good."

"Hey man, coffee is coffee."

I giggled and followed her to the snack bar. As she filled her cup, then mixed in creamer and sugar, she hummed cheerfully to herself. Something about her seemed so genuine and pure, like she was content simply being, without a care in the world. The break from conversation allowed Thistle to return.

 _"Woah. I mean, just… Woah."_

 _"Thank you for your lovely insight. So deep, so meaningful,"_ I retorted, mock sincerity dripping from my thoughts.

 _"Make fun all you want, I'm seriously at a loss for words."_

 _"Shocking then, really, that you keep talking anyway."_

He ignored me and continued. _"It's like our whole life has been leading to this one fucking moment. Who is she? Why is she? How is she?"_

I laughed to myself quietly. _"Shut up, man… Just chill out a bit."_

 _"Oh, chill out, okay. I have to sit back and watch you feebly attempt to be cool, unable to intervene physically when you inevitably fuck up."_

I growled, _"Look here, you ass-"_ but I was cut off as he continued.

 _"Please get this right. I don't know why, but I feel like this is the most important thing that's ever happened to us."_

I didn't get a chance to respond, as Miranda walked back to me. "Ah, service is starting. Can I sit with you?"

I realised it was now or never. "I was actually here for the first service; now I'm just helping. Once I pass out communion I'll be going home, before service actually gets out, so…" I took a shaky breath, inaudible to her. "Maybe we could follow each other on Instagram?"

She nodded cheerfully. "Of course!" She took her phone out of her purse and Thistle cheered in my head. Opening the app, she handed it to me. "Here, enter yourself and I'll follow you now, so we can chat later."

"Okay," I half whispered. My head was in a daze, as I realised that this wasn't a fantasy and was actually happening. I searched myself on her phone and requested to follow, and a few moments later I heard my own phone buzz from my purse with a notification. She tilted her head slightly and grinned.

"Cool. I'll see you later then!" She turned and walked inside, leaving me in the lobby dazed and, for the first time in quite a while, happy.


End file.
